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Horse culture was weird. Old-fashioned weird, even in the United States and in the vicinity of the Northeast megalopolis that extended from Boston down through New York City, Philadelphia, Washington D.C, and Destiny City. It had suburbs, sure, but even the suburbs were pretty urbanized to a level of modernity that made the Victorian-like caste attitudes of the riding world bizarre to encounter. As a member of the 'help', mucking stalls, cleaning water buckets and distributing coffee cans full of different mixes of pellet or grain tailored to each beast, Morgan was generally Seen And Not Heard. It had its bonuses, like getting to just tune out and get stuff done quickly to get to zir own riding plans.

The sudden loom along the floor, a shadow of a head and shoulders, across the plastic bucket and pitchfork drew Morgan's attention up in sudden surprise and bewilderment. Then true-blue eyes blinked. Morgan straightened, craned to look where the silhouette of person was pointing, then returned to being on both feet. Familiar voice-

WAIT. I KNOW YOU. YOU'RE THAT OLGA. THE WALLET. THE CARNIVAL. BALLS. UH. Answer. Come up with an answer. Talk to her. She knew that senshi. "Uh...hi. yeah... The farm hands will be carrying new flake down this afternoon out of the loft, but I know where the ladder up is. I can get some and show you where it is for the future? It's three flakes for most of the horses...which are you? "

For the most part, Morgan identified people at the barn as Help, like zirself, or by the name of their horse, like Tizzy's Owner and Tizzy's Renter/Rider. In the meantime, Morgan set poo bucket and hay pick aside against the wall, brushed hands off on jeans, and stepped out of the stall to the more lit runway to get a clearer look at the other. Yeah, definitely the same. I didn't know this one came to the stable. What luck. I could cozy on up and maybe get some dirt yeah? Shoot her a killer grin-

Nothing gonna shorten this one's stride...that's pretty cute though. Never have to worry about being bored or having a bad time at a movie, mall, or whatever friends and lovers do for dates these days. The hand was taken in a casual grip with steady eye contact. "Morgan Keaton. Come on, the ladder is over near the chow room and wash stall. "

"I lease time on a couple, but yeah, I know Nugget. 1/2 grain, 1/2 pellet for 'im according to the board. Next to Clan Tavish's stall. " It didn't take time at all to cross before the stalls and into the latched room where the barrels of feed, shelves of supplements and the ladder were. It was a pull down, in the corner, with a rope handle that blended in with all the barn coats on pegs. It creaked, like it belonged to a haunted, turn of the century attic to pull it down. "Mostly the hands go in and out out of the doors-opening to the loft in front of the barn when they've got the hay elevator for up or down. They'll bring down 50 square bales. "

Morgan clambered up and into the grassy-smelling, dusty din of the loft. At least the thing was still well stocked and full since they weren't far from autumn. "Fresh and unrolled in."

Roll in the hay, hah. "I don't remember any rules saying people can't come up here, just there's no usual reason to bother unless you need more hay. I guess if you bring a friend over. Or a book. The tack room seems like it'd be nicer for chilling though. But now you know, right?"

One of the three twines on the nearest square was hooked in hand and Morgan heaved it onto shoulder to balance back down the ladder. "May as well bring a whole bale down- someone else might want some in the meantime, and there's no use everyone going up and down or going without. It can sit on the pallets where the rest will go. Are you riding today, or just getting some grooming in?"

It had been a name pulled out of one of the historic-fiction movies that had been in the group of first-remembered on waking into the world again to find so much of the rest of life just missing. But it offered another talking point. "Yeah, I always liked that it was like...Morgan Earp. Like Tombstone."

"Crème de la Holly, or 'Krem' over in six, and Duke Yukon, or 'Yuuka' over in eleven. " They were both good horses, better than deserved for a beginner, really, but having a horse that knew it's business had been an incredible boon to the learning curve so far. "I have to put in hours to afford things. So yeah, I'm 'staff' as well as leasing. It's a good discount from the owners and barn manager, and it means I'm here more often anyway facilitating practice. "

There was a moment of awkward pause like waiting for Olga to write off 'lowerclass' as not worth time. Then an offered inquiry again, "You uh.....ride western? Hunter/jumper? Dressage? I muck Nugget's stall and feed 'em, but I've not really seen 'em out in tack. " Winter break. So she's a student in the city. High school? College? That weirdo prep school that straddles them?

"I uh...yeah. Vaulting, hunt and gymkhana. There's always period and fantasy films out there with horses in them, and they always need stunts on them, or fancy riding like barrels, poles and jumps. So those seemed necessaries to getting familiar to moving on a horse and with a horse. Getting used to the different saddles and styles is a lot of practice, so I ride pretty often. "


"I was planning to go out, " yesssss. Yes, she asked. Wow though. She got some decibels. Maybe its proportional to the level of excitement? 'This one goes to eleven.'

"Why don't we trail together? I could pull out Krem. Are you comfortable at speed? The weather is pretty clear. You can pass Nugget the flake you wanted and get tacked up, and I'll put my fork and bucket away. We could meet ready to go in the aisle here, and head out? You got a trail you prefer?"

"Let's do a bit of G&P then. It's ten minutes off the southe pasture over the Hunt Club yard to get to the park trails and they're Woody End Walk hooks up to the G&P over the packing lot. " There was no knowing right off how long Olga had been at the barn, or how many of the local trails she'd been on- if she'd recognize what was even being talked about. The G&P Canal Towpath, which extended from Destiny City to Matildaville, a haunting, ruined and abandoned planned city that closed and died in the lat 1820s. Morgan had never been yet, and the whole trail, while open to horses and campers, was a matter of at least sixty of miles (or more) and not for a single day. Still, maybe another time, they could pack supplies and go all the way to scope out the falling stone walls of the gristmill, forge, homes, stores, and an inn that once served Theodore Roosevelt. The surface was decent and clear for riding- crushed stone, Dirt, and grass here and there along spurs. There was just the threat of the occasional exposed tree root, mountain bikers, or fisherman along the river views.

The other questions were left unanswered for a small time, while the girl zipped off and Morgan tidied away work supplies and tacked up Krem in the cross ties to meet in the main aisle. When Nugget and Olga appeared, Morgan flashed the pair a wide smile. "All stunts, not just horse ones. So what do you do? "

The mounting block was a necessity for Krem, at 17 hands. "For a living or...school? "

"Ya just found someone, " Morgan declared with notes of pride and a lopsided grin. "Bein' real though, I've not done the whole thing either. Exactly the same reason, I didn't know anyone else who rode who'd be interested. And a long thing like that, you have to at least have a partner. We could even ride doubles, if you had a non-rider friend you wanted to bring. We could 4-person camp it. "

"Once we squared away when you have a break long enough from school, or if we'll want to trailer back from the other side. And gear. Do you have camp stuff?" A firm press of heels and Krem leapt to speed down from the barn and across the fields. I know just who I could bring. Bus could be along. Wouldn't matter who she brought as her second. If we needed, between the two of us, we coudl drain her and who she brought and bring both in to the SpecOps if casual, friendly like talk about all the crazy terrorists didn't provide any clues to that senshi she seemed to know. Nothing like campfire stories and a trail ride, right? Loose some stories all pleasant-like.

No friends at all? It seemed impossible, or really damn sad, or a little of both. The casual trust in someone just met to start planning a camping trip was too deliciously small suburban or rural townish, too. Or maybe a relic of barn culture? Effin' Boss. Gotta keep up on this connection though. Maybe go for rides with her whenever I can. Gonna catch me that senshi without a doubt.

Shifting feet out of the stirrups, Morgan carefully drew up one leg, then the other, finding parts of the saddle to use to get up into a crouch. Then stood with reins in hand and heart pounding equal to the cadence of Krem's hooves.

"SPRINGTIME!" It was called aloud to the very trees. "Once the ground isn't a mudpit so we can sleepingbag it! It's some months away, bugt we can keep weather watch and go on rides in the-"

-duck a branch. "Meantime!"